Chapter 4 - Adrian didn't sleep that night.Neither did I.
At five in the morning, the rain had turned the riverfront into a sheet of silver.
We were in a private room overlooking the docks.
The photograph lay between us.
Adrian stared at it as though looking long enough might rewrite seventeen years of his life.
“That’s him,” he said.
I nodded.
“You remember him?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be certain?”
“Because I remember the photograph.”
He looked at me.
“From where?”
“My father's storage unit.”
Adrian's eyes sharpened.
“I thought you said you only found the USB.”
“There was an envelope.”
“You didn't mention it.”
“I was trying not to die.”
Fair enough.
I opened my bag.
Inside was the envelope.
Samuel Vaughn's handwriting covered the front.
FOR CLARA. OPEN ONLY IN THE PRESENCE OF ADRIAN MORETTI.
Adrian read it twice.
“Why would your father know about my brother?”
“I don't know.”
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet.
Three sentences.
Eleanor trusted the wrong person.
Vittorio paid for a lie.
Alexander was never the victim.
Adrian stood.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
He turned toward the river.
“My father died believing my mother betrayed him.”
“Maybe she didn't.”
“He hated her.”
“Maybe he was manipulated.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Then a phone rang.
Not his.
Mine.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered.
“Clara.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“You should never have taken that drive.”
“What do you want?”
“The drive is no longer yours.”
I looked at Adrian.
He motioned for me to put the phone on speaker.
The voice continued.
“Adrian is already beginning to remember.”
Adrian stared.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed.
“Ask him about the cellar.”
Adrian's face changed.
“What cellar?”
The line went dead.
I looked at him.
He didn't move.
“What cellar?”
He rubbed his temple.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
His eyes met mine.
“I genuinely don't remember.”
Luca entered.
“We have a problem.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“The hospital.”
Peter was gone.
Again.
Evelyn found him missing from a locked room with a sedated guard outside.
Security footage showed Peter walking out.
Alone.
Wearing his bloody coat.
Impossible.
He couldn't have been strong enough.
Luca handed Adrian a tablet.
“We traced his exit.”
“Where?”
“Old Moretti property.”
Adrian stared at the map.
An abandoned house stood twelve miles outside New Orleans.
The Moretti family had owned it decades ago.
Nobody used it now.
“What happened there?”
Luca shook his head.
“Records say the property was condemned after a fire in 2001.”
I looked at the map.
“Why would Peter go there?”
Adrian already had his weapon.
“Because whatever happened there matters.”
We drove through the rain.
The house appeared behind a line of dead oak trees.
The front door was already open.
Inside, the air smelled of wet wood.
Adrian walked slowly through the corridor.
Then stopped.
His fingers brushed the wall.
“There's something here.”
He pushed a loose panel.
A hidden staircase appeared.
We descended into darkness.
At the bottom was a narrow room.
There were children's drawings on the walls.
Storm clouds.
A red house.
A little boy holding a lion.
Adrian stopped.
His breathing changed.
“I remember.”
I stepped closer.
“What?”
He touched the drawing.
“Thunder.”
His eyes closed.
“A boy was crying.”
“Who?”
Adrian opened his eyes.
“Me.”
Luca looked around.
“And the other boy?”
Adrian stared at the second drawing.
Two children.
One holding the other.
Then he whispered:
“Alexander.”
Suddenly, footsteps sounded above us.
We turned.
The basement door slammed.
Someone locked it.
Then a match was struck.
Fire appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
Someone had poured gasoline across the steps.
The flames spread instantly.
Luca pulled me backward.
Adrian shouted upward.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
A voice answered.
Peter.
“You wanted the truth.”
The fire climbed higher.
Peter's voice became almost gentle.
May you like
“Now you get to remember it.”
And the cellar ceiling began collapsing.
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